


If Your Mind Should Sway

by Ghostcat



Series: All Things Go [6]
Category: Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Speculation, Eye Sex, F/M, Flirting, Missing Scene, Podfic Welcome, Shenanigans, Unresolved Sexual Tension, fake married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 06:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1459852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostcat/pseuds/Ghostcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We should take the long way home," Veronica says. Evasion, flirtation and shenanigans, must be Logan and Veronica. Missing scene from Veronica Mars movie. Part of the non-chronological All Things Go series, works as a one-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Your Mind Should Sway

**Author's Note:**

> Rated T for language and general slow burn.
> 
> This story takes place after Veronica tells Logan to take the long way home after his "date" with Ruby Jetson.
> 
> Part 6 of a longer series, All Things Go, based on a playlist of song prompts. "Chained" by The xx is the prompt for this one. Works as a one-shot.
> 
> I do not own these characters, they belong to Rob Thomas.
> 
> Enormous thank you to [Blithers](http://www.blithers.tumblr.com), for her usual superb beta reading, in the face of important life events like birthdays and engagements. (Congratulations!)
> 
> Thank you to [Machaswicket](http://www.machaswicket.tumblr.com) for having a look at my second pass and providing invaluable information regarding trespassing, both civil and criminal, and to [Goodbye Windows Tired Starlings](http://goodbyewindowstiredstarlings.tumblr.com/) for translating something very silly into Farsi. So grateful.
> 
> Dedicated to the ever inspiring [Merah](http://www.bartowski.tumblr.com). I threw in one parallel for you. It's an easy one.
> 
> UPDATE: Tumblr user [lilamadison11](http://www.lilamadison11.tumblr.com) did two beautiful graphics inspired by this story. [One features the Chained lyrics that give this story its name](http://lilamadison11.tumblr.com/post/82735373774/lilamadison11-we-used-to-get-closer-than-this) and [the other, a passage from the story itself](http://lilamadison11.tumblr.com/post/82759342390/hes-watching-her-carefully-like-he-hears-it-all). Beautiful, beautiful work.
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://imgur.com/zNirb9X)  
>   
> 
> 
> *  
> Please review. Thanks! 

The next song on the playlist is another swirling bit of romanticism. Veronica smiles to herself. This entire drive is a swirling bit of romanticism. Wind in her hair? Check. Sweet ride? Check. Logan next to her, his eyes scanning her every so often? Check. She can feel it, the growing, proximity-related warmth rendering her so relaxed that it would take nothing, nothing at all, to stretch her arm over and touch him, make it realer.

That time on the Coronado with Logan, one of the last times, when he drove her to the airport right after graduation, plays in her head like a scene from a movie. It was a cotton candied blur of arms, mouths, single word whispers and convenient stops. Back then, Veronica thought she was above the teen hormonal frenzy. Not dumb or weak, but grown up, sharp-eyed, aloof. Her feelings under control, reasoned away. She knows now what she’d really been, in that hour at least. Something so stupidly simple it’s almost embarrassing **—** an eighteen year-old girl in love with her boyfriend, _happy_.

Yup, embarrassing.

“You know, Logan. If I didn't know better, I'd swear this was your make out megamix.”

He keeps his eyes on the road and gestures offhandedly towards the radio. “What? This? It's my long winter evening brood music.”

She smiles and puts a dollop of disingenuous pep into her reply. “So an every day playlist, then?”

“It's versatile. Sometimes I listen to it while I darn my socks.”

Her mouth opens to volley back but something about the way he says that stops her. She knows Logan, it’s discomfiting how well she knows him still, not in the physical details so much as in the reading of him. Like his voice. She remembers his intonations, the texture of his equivocations, because she’s studied him, like Calculus, or a prospective juror in a mock jury selection. Or a mark.

“You aren’t kidding, are you?”

He smirks in response.

“Well, fancy that. Logan Echolls, master of Home Ec.”

“I've learned a few new things in the past nine years.”

She isn’t proud of it but her mind goes there. And there.

“Like what exactly?” Veronica asks, trying to keep the innuendo out of her voice but all that forced softness only makes her sound breathless.

“I can make fresh ingredient gourmet meals using only a microwave.”

“Ooh. Really?”

He nods solemnly, and she widens her eyes.

“Go on. I’m intrigued.” Veronica adopts a pensive pose. Logan smiles.

“Mmm. I can iron.”

“Whoa.” She does a double take.

“I know. You should see my closet. Nary a wrinkle in sight.” His right hand smooths the air out in that familiar, throwaway gesture of his.

“Tell me more.”

“Speak some basic Farsi.”

“Could you order something for me in a restaurant? This is important.”

“Khanoom-am dotah kaseh khoresht-eh barreh mikhat. Eshte-ha’sh kheily bozorg-eh.”

“Stop it.” Veronica responds coyly, fanning herself.

“Hishvaght.”

She laughs. It’s giddy and joyful and who the fuck is she right now? Joke back, be cool, deflect. 

“If you tell me that you can pilot an aircraft, I’ll be yours forever.”

Oops. That didn't land right. Light and teasing is her flirtation calling card. Why is it that when it’s directed at him, things get heavy? The car slows down to a stop. He glances over to her. Damn, he’s pretty. No, not... _pretty_ exactly. He's Logan. And this? This isn't flirting. This is chit chat. Banter. Lighthearted banter. You have a boyfriend. His name is Piz. He’s a sweetheart. Remember? The overhead traffic lights swing in the breeze, blinking red on the turn.

“I can pilot an aircraft.”

Logan speaks with deliberate, feathery slowness and it makes her squirm a little with sudden heat. Her eyes drift over his face, settling on his cheek. He shaved. The corner of his jaw is sharper than it used to be, you could draw it with two precise lines. Veronica wants to breathe them in, those lines, connect them with her tongue, point A to B. If she didn’t know, with painful certainty, that doing so would completely upend everything, she would. She would fall right off that wagon. Just thinking about it makes her heart race. She can hear it in her ears, amplified.

“I guess I’m cooked.” Casual. Controlled. An observation. She’s observing.

“I guess so.”

The light turns green, there are no cars behind them.

“So which long way do you want me to take? Back streets? Old haunts?”

Going straight to her father’s house would be the smart thing to do. It's a quick drive. Logan will step out to open the door for her and thank her, yet again. He’ll kiss her forehead. She will resist the urge to burrow into him. She’ll go inside, sit next to her dad, snoring from his watchman’s perch on the couch. She’ll stay up until god knows when, caught somewhere between an exhausting mental rundown of the particulars of Carrie’s death and a Fox News rage spiral. She’ll try not to check her phone every few minutes and fail. And fail again.

“Old haunts,” she blurts out, surprising herself.

“Hearst? Or further back?”

“Further back.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him give a slight nod.

“Okay.”

He turns left, making the slow ascent to the hillside 09er areas. The roads are well paved examples of tax dollars at work, each street light shining with a soft expensive glow, fragrant California Bay Laurels lining the way like graceful sentries to a better world.

Logan enters a subdivided neighborhood, a sign announcing it as Pelican Cove which is as folksy as it is patently false. They are nowhere near a cove, or pelicans. The streets get slimmer, become one-ways until finally, they are in a narrower cul-de-sac, lined with heavy hanging trees and her heart aches at the sight. She knows where they are. He turns onto the familiar, small roundabout, and points towards what used to be her modest mid-century style home, now sleeker and updated, a jarring new addition rising from the top of the roof like the crown of a cockatoo.

“Oh my god. Look at that,” she whispers.

He parks in front of the driveway. A Lexus, a Mustang two door convertible, two bikes. Two parents, two kids. Possible mid-life crisis. Definite wealth. She unbuckles her seat belt, goes for the door, and stops herself. What is she going to do? Sneak ‘round the back? Climb the lemon trees? Peek in the windows? See if her old puppet theater still lived in the shed? She sits up on her knees instead, folding her arms on the car window, bending down to rest her chin on them, taking in the sight of the place. She sighs. “I can’t believe it. It looks like an airport from the '60s.”

“Does it look smaller?”

“No. If it hadn't been for the trees, I wouldn't have recognized the street. Man, I loved that house.” She looks around at the other houses, taking note of the symmetry. Lawns mowed, hedges cut just so. Even the color of the doors, in complementary neutral ocean shades, denoted a subtle but powerful message of upward mobility. “It’s way more upscale around here. Wowza.”

“Yeah, I think this place is considered a proper part of the 09er zip now, as opposed to aspiring. I’ve heard great things about the schools.”

Veronica slaps him on the arm. It’s rote, it’s automatic, it’s what Veronica Mars does when Logan Echolls is being an ass, but holy hell, was that all muscle? Her hand stings a little from the contact. She makes a face, he catches it and laughs softly. She blows on her hand.

“Geez, Logan. Are you made of concrete?”

She gives his upper arm a poke. He didn’t look this solid standing in front of her.

“The Navy insists on peak physical condition.”

Veronica exhales a single disbelieving laugh.

He studies her. “Want to swing by Neptune High?”

“No way.”

“Want to… go home?”

She pauses. “Not yet.”

He purses his lips into a small smile, starts the car and takes off. Veronica looks back one last time at the house, and hears, no, imagines, a single bark.

Logan steers them confidently through the winding streets, taking them in and out of the light and shadow, and she’s hit by a wave of deja vu and for once, it doesn’t unnerve her. She doesn't want to let it go. Familiarity that doesn’t suck. What a concept.

“You've done this circuit before. You have a route.” It comes out tougher than she wanted to, like she’s accusing him of something.

“Oh, Veronica. How I’ve missed you.”

He’s not really joking and doesn't seem to care that she knows, judging by the fond smile on his face. As if Veronica Mars being sternly suspicious is the greatest thing ever. She keeps expecting him to bite back, but he’s been nothing but warm. It’s disorienting. On the flight from New York, she mentally prepared herself for Logan’s classic defensiveness, so all the maturity she’s encountered in its place catches her off-guard. She likes it and she doesn't. Subjective ambivalence at its finest. She likes his new steadiness, their conversational shorthand minus the hostility, this _ease_ between them, but it troubles her too. If there’s no conflict, then avoidance is no option. The only thing left is approach. She’s nowhere near ready to examine what that means.

She’s starting to sweat a little, so she shimmies out of her jacket, feeling the gentle night breeze through the fine blonde hairs of her forearm. She likes this top, it’s a bit more daring, cleavage-wise, than her usual numbers. If Logan has noticed, he hasn't shown it. A part of her wants to know, wants to reach out to the past version of him who was all exposed nerve and pull him to the present. The boy who openly admired her, told her how beautiful she was at every opportunity.

“Do you want me to bring the top up and turn the air on?” His voice is mild, concerned even.

“No. It’s perfect.”

The thing is, she found him hard to read back then too. She could only wound him better because she herself was wounded. The thought makes her uncomfortable. There’s a fine line between true hindsight and wishful thinking.

After five minutes of winding curves and increasingly more upscale homes, Logan pulls up to a high walled estate. She sees the numbers on the gate. Has everything changed? Of course it has. Come on, Veronica. Do you really think everything went Rip Van Winkle while you were away?

Logan makes a tada gesture towards the gate. It’s business-like. Not sad, not nostalgic. Matter of fact. Like the world’s most laconic tour guide.

“Back to the old house.” Logan intones, needlessly adjusting the side view mirror.

“Hmm. Ye olde Echolls Estate. It sold back when we were in college, right?”

“Yeah. I called and scheduled a private viewing when the property was put on the market again a couple of years ago. You know me. I couldn't resist.”

“I would’ve too. Did you go as yourself?”

Logan doesn't bat an eyelash, understanding immediately. “Yeah. They knew who I was. Carrie came with me.”

Veronica feels an odd pang in her chest. “How did it look?”

“Glass-on-glass Neutra rip-off. An infinity pool facing nothingness. An entire sub-basement gym with mirrored walls. Ficus. Everywhere. In short, they captured the spirit of the original Hell House very well.”

“Do you know who bought it?”

“Some Russian internet billionaire.”

A private security car drives by. Logan lifts his arm in greeting. It doesn't stop.

“Not much else to see here. Ready for the next stop?”

Veronica breathes in and sad-smiles a yes. She remembers the way from there, two turns left, three turns right. Ten minutes if she was driving, seven if it was Lilly. Logan? Back then, faster than Lilly. Now? More than ten. Past life meets present.

The gate is the same. The house, just visible at the end of the drive, unchanged. Logan idles to a stop, soft music playing on the speakers. Somehow or another, she’d slid her hand towards his and he’d taken it. It’s not loaded like any of the previous moments, it’s something else. It’s like they’re keeping each other safe as they remember.

Veronica is bone-tired but there’s a peace to her exhaustion, contentment rounding out the edges. She's a terrible sleeper, has been for the past several years, and she tries to blame it on school and work but it isn’t that. It’s the routines, all those clear outcomes. Every day a series of perfectly achievable checklists, every day ending with a shrug. Not today though. Acting as Logan’s bodyguard of sorts, watching him twirl Ruby around like a good sport, his body relaxed and open as he sits next to her. So present. And yet… she can't guess what’s coming next. For most people, the uncertainty would raise stress levels to maximum capacity, make them anxious, on edge, but not her. The not-knowing relaxes her, it makes more sense as a default setting. Right now, Veronica Mars is ocean-calm, placid but moving, perfectly herself. All she wants to do is curl and crash around him, tickle the edges of his body, surround and overtake. She closes her eyes.

“Go ahead.” His voice is so quiet, she almost misses it.

“What?”

Logan pulls his hand away to lower the music and doesn’t return it. He rests his palms on the steering wheel and flexes his long fingers. “I’ll wake you up when we get to your dad’s. It’s only twenty minutes from here.” He says it reassuringly, as if she were a child.

“I’m not sleepy,” she insists, stubbornly. She isn't.

He looks at her quickly, his expression soft, then over to the gate. Then back at her, then back at the gate. He raises his eyebrow and scrunches up his face in that spectacularly ridiculous way that she missed so much.

“Wanna jump the gate? Run around the yard?”

She tilts her head. “Start a bonfire?”

“Ah, the bonfire. You guys never let me near the fire pit ever.” He sounds deeply saddened by this.

“Because you’re a menace.”

Logan surveys the area carefully, in all directions, turns off the ignition and shifts back to her, expectantly. “Let’s do it.”

This is a game, this is their game, an old one. In her car, driving to a job. At the beach, watching everyone around them. Late at night, in his bed. Afterwards. A game of lets and how and would you. She looks at the gate. It wouldn't be impossible. The back entrance might still be in play. That's an option. She turns back and finds Logan leaning a tiny bit closer than before. He must’ve silently inched forward. It doesn’t bother her. He grins at her, his face more alive than she’s seen the past couple of days. She looks down and smiles.

He inches forward again, just a hair, his voice dropping lower, “We could roast marshmallows.”

Their seats connect. This could mean trouble.

“Oh, you just happen to have some in the car?”

“Maybe. You never know when they might come handy.”

“True,” she murmurs, lowering her lashes.

“We could sit on those lawn chairs and talk about…”

“The NSA surveillance scandal?”

Logan laughs, stretching his arm on the back of her seat, his fingers almost grazing her hair. She wants to bite them. Softly. Like a cat.

“Come on, Echolls. I’m trying to age us up here. Get with the program.”

“We could go for a midnight swim.” Logan bends towards her, a smooth split second flash, then leans back again, grinning. _Tease._

“Oh, do you keep spare bathing suits next to the marshmallows?”

He brings a knuckle up to his teeth, nips at it, smiles. “No. I don’t.”

This is a game, a joke between friends. It’s not real. She looks away from him for a moment, curling a strand of hair around her index finger, tightly, until the skin turns a plump red.

“We could get caught, Logan. That would look really bad for you. And me.”

“We wouldn't get caught. With your brains and my…” He gestures towards himself, wiggling his fingers, “...brains, we’d be just fine.”

“What about the people that live here, Logan? I’m sure they wouldn't be too pleased about a couple of trespassers frolicking in their yard.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Trespassing? Not breaking and entering?”

“Nope. We’re not breaking into the home. We’re hanging out in their yard. That would be a clear case of criminal trespassing, a misdemeanor, either a fine or jail time. Not sure what trespassing laws are in California nowadays. Oooh. There’s always tort law… something called 'attractive nuisance'.  I should probably look into that.”

“And why would you need to look into that? Do I see more awkward three person dates in my future?” His smile curves into something altogether knowing and smug.

Was it simple curiosity? She wasn’t sure.

“Oh fine. You got me. I’m thinking of taking up a life of crime. Leaving NYC and its six figure promises behind.”

She winks and points a finger gun, clicking her tongue. It’s a weak joke, not funny at all, a poor diversion. Thankfully, Logan ignores it. He peers in the direction of the house.

“No one lives here, you know. It’s been on the market for almost four years. Jake Kane refuses to renovate, it’s being sold as is.” Logan shrugs. “I read it in the paper.”

Veronica freezes. That is not a name she wants to hear. Ever.

“So it still belongs to Jake Kane.” she says, clipped and small.

“Yeah,” he says grimly, sitting up in his seat a little, his back rigid. The silence that follows is heavy.

After a moment, Veronica breaks it, her voice low. “All kidding aside… is it terrible that I kind of want to?”

“Want to what?”

She gives him a sneaky sidelong glance. That’s her answer. To Logan’s credit, he takes it as such.

“What do you mean?” Logan turns to her.

“Just go for it. Transgress.”

His lips are chapped, not too much, just the bottom lip, just enough. Her eyes keep drifting down to it.

When she speaks, it is careful. Measured. “I know that it’s a bad idea. A _terrible_ idea.”

Logan nods.

“But I really want to,” she trails off, meeting his eyes.

“Yeah.”

He’s right there with her.

“It would be so easy. To do it.”

“I know,” he murmurs.

“Just like riding a bike.”

Neither of them are moving but it feels as if they are. Like the air is shimmering around them. What is she really talking about? What is he? His lids are heavy, his mouth slightly parted. She can smell his skin, the scent of his aftershave mixed with something else. Sun.

Just then, a young man walks into view, like an unexpected mirage, breaking the tension. He’s in his early 20s, bespectacled, his face round and serious. He pushes along a bicycle and drinks from an enormous cup, sucking through a red and white striped straw. He walks in front of their car, stopping to glance over and gives them a hesitant wave. Veronica automatically returns the gesture. The boy slurps more of his, what is that, a milkshake, and goes up to the gate, propping his bike up and putting his shake on the ground. He stays down there, pulling in his knee to rest his chin on it as he ties his shoe. His gray-black laces, are long, too long. He spends an absurd amount of time aligning them and looping them together. Veronica perks up.

She turns to Logan, whispering urgently. “What kind of security system do you think they have? Because I don’t see cameras.”

“It’s not a permanent residence and hasn't been for a while. Either remote, or automated. DVD burns, probably erased automatically after a day.”

Veronica wiggles a ring off of her right hand and switches it to her left ring finger, keeping an eye on the young man as he punches some numbers into the gate security system. She swats at Logan’s leg and drops her voice to a murmur, “Okay, buddy. Let’s play.”

She sits up in her seat, altering her usually upright posture into something more carefree. Neck goes that way, hips the other, loose.

“Excuse me? Hi, there! Hi! Do you live here, is this your house?” Veronica trills in a cheerily slack, distinctly California way.

The boy looks around as if she’s talking to someone else. She resists the urge to roll her eyes.

“Who, me?”

“Yes, is this your house?”

“Umm, no. I’m the uh, caretaker.”

“Oh, what a stroke of luck! Come on, honey.”

She leans over to Logan, kisses him near his mouth and gives him a meaningful look. He freezes, inhaling, the light too dark to see his eyes. It takes a beat but he recovers, getting out of the car, and walking around to open the door for her. He takes her hand and once up, she uses it to pull him closer. He is pliant enough to steer over to the young man who watches them warily, chewing on his straw.

“Hi! I’m Betty and this hunk is my husband, Ted. Nice to meet you.”

To anyone else, Logan’s slight shift in expression was half greeting/half acknowledgment. She knows from vast experience that it’s a more muted version of his _WTF, Veronica_ look. He keeps it together though, waving his fingers hello. Good boy. She rewards him with a girlish giggle, wrinkling her nose and squeezing his side. He mirrors her expression back precisely. They turn back to the boy in tandem, Logan tilting down slightly to be closer to her, his head on top of hers, the very picture of cutesy togetherness.

“We are in the market to buy a property around here and we heard that this house was for sale. It is _so_ impressive.”

“Yeah, it’s nice. Umm, I can give you the broker info…” The boy rifles through his cargo short pockets, keeping a precarious hold on his large drink by squeezing it in the crook of his arm. It occurs to Veronica that he might be stoned. He licks the front of his teeth, spaces out for several seconds, then goes back to searching. _Definitely_ stoned.

“We have it,” Logan replies, a bit more tersely than necessary. She rubs the back of his calf with the front of her foot. Down boy. Logan nods. “We just… wanted to see it at night.”

The kid eyes them both suspiciously through the curtain of his bowl cut bangs. _Great, Logan. Stick to flying._

“Sorry, Ted’s such a weirdo sometimes. What he means is,” she slows down dramatically, clasping her hands in front of her daintily, “...in our house hunting experience seeing a place after hours can really give you a sense of what a neighborhood is like. Also,” she walks a little closer and speaks to him from the side of her mouth, as if they are teammates sharing secrets in the locker room, “...it’s just so much better when the broker isn’t around, you know? We don’t really care about Carrabba marble or the fancy wine fridge. We just want to get a feel for the place, the grounds more than anything. A nice yard is our number one consideration. You know what I’m saying, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replies, blinking at them owlishly.

“We don’t need to see the house itself. Just the outdoor area. Under your supervision of course. We won’t take up too much of your time. We know it’s super duper late. I hadn't expected to see anyone but there you were and I just had to ask. Kismet, ya know?”

The boy's eyes dart from her to Logan, then past them to the BMW. She reads the young man’s face, it’s clear as day, what kind of thief/murderer duo tools around in a BMW? Rich ones, kid. She isn’t about to tell him that though. She beams her most guileless and hopeful expression, her hands clasped in front of her face in supplication.

“Umm. Okay. Just the yard though.”

Veronica lets out a little eep of victory. The boy looks around nervously. 

“Look, I could get in trouble for this so if you like it, please don’t mention to the broker that you’ve seen some of it already.”

“Oh my gosh! Thank you so much. Mums the word! ” Veronica claps her hands excitedly and makes a brief little zipping motion at her mouth. She gives Logan a semi-clumsy side squeeze and he surprises her by squeezing back, lifting her up slightly off the ground.

“Do you want to bring the car in? I’m Gabe, by the way.” He lifts his hand up instead of shaking her hand.

“Yeah, that would be great, Gabe. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Gabe punches in another code and the gates swing wide open. He walks his bike in, and goes back to slurping his drink. They make their way back to the car, still holding hands, arms swinging. Logan is smiling an easy, relaxed smile and when their eyes meet, the street light hits him just right and he looks gorgeous. But Gabe the Caretaker isn’t watching them so she keeps to her side of the car. Which is too bad because she can do adoring wife really, really well.

They drive through the gate, up the familiar drive and there it is, the Kane house, looming like a boxy ghost. Her initial elation at talking her way in dampens. Logan gives her knee a reassuring pat. 

She turns to him, swallowing. “You know.”

“Yeah.”

He parks, kills the ignition and gets out, shaking his legs out a bit as he squints into the darkness. Veronica exits the car and leans against it. Logan walks around, kicks the front of her boot, once, gently and steps back, hands at his side, back ramrod straight, legs together, a one and a two. She fights back the urge to salute. Logan lifts his brows.

“What next, Betty?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

She reaches out her hand and he puts his fingertips to hers. They used to do that all the time, she realizes with a jolt. After that initial touch, he’d slide his fingers up to her forearm, pull her closer in, and then make her chase him. This time he doesn’t, their fingers stay like this, tented against each others. As if they were each other’s reflection.

Logan looks at her steadily for a moment, then turns towards the trees. “We’ll wing it then.”

Gabe comes back to the driveway, minus his supersize drink. Logan puts his arm around her shoulder and she takes the hand that hangs over with both of her own, gently rubbing his palm with her thumbs. That she knows he likes that is irrelevant. The point is to sell it. Right? Beside her, she hears Logan breathe out.

“Hi, umm, the yard is this way.” Gabe points. He’s not a fast walker but they’re in no hurry. Veronica rubs her shoulder against Logan as they walk. He pushes right back, gently.

“So how long have you been looking for a place?” the boy asks.

“Would you believe we _just_ started?” Logan replies, so perky Veronica almost cracks. She elbows him.

“What Ted means is that this is the first place we've looked at in Neptune. We hear the schools around here are great.”

Logan coughs.

Gabe nods, glancing back at them. “Yeah, they’re good I guess. I went to Neptune High myself.”

“That’s awesome! Did you just love it?” Veronica grins toothily for emphasis. _Kill her now_. Logan pokes her in the hip. Her top has ridden up a bit so he hits skin instead of fabric and the contact makes her jump a little. He steadies her, without comment, more hand on bare skin, his fingers pressing her closer.

“Eh, it was okay. Lots of cliques.”

The landscaping has changed slightly so they go through a modified hedge sitting area before they come out to the back. Veronica gasps, covering her mouth in actual surprise. “No _pool_?”

“Yeah, I heard there used to be one but the owner had it filled in. Between you and me, there hasn't been a lot of interest in the place so you could probably lowball them a bit, if you wanted to.”

“That’s good to know,” Veronica murmurs.

“Yeah, no problem.”

It’s all grass and bushes, well-kept, tidy, a little dull. Veronica walks towards the area where the pool used to be, and looks back at the house. Logan follows her, a sympathetic shadow. He regards her with his head tilted sideways, then looks away, towards the side of the house where a wisteria trellis still stands. He moves towards it, graceful in the dark.

“So do you live here year round, Gabe?”

“Yeah, there’s a guesthouse in the back, that’s where I stay. It’s a good gig. I’m a writer so it leaves me with plenty of time to do my thing.”

“Right. Sounds like a dream job, then.”

“Pretty much.”

Gabe’s eyes are enormous and blue and his cheeks still have some baby fat. Veronica wants to know how he wound up here. An 09er babysitting an empty house, year round. Not just any house. The Kane’s. There’s a story there. Too bad she wasn’t staying longer. She might’ve continued their acquaintance.

“So do you see the owners much?” she asks, putting her hands in her back pockets.

“No, I’ve never met them. I was hired by the estate agent.”

“It’s a beautiful home, I wonder why it hasn't sold. Can’t just be the lack of a pool.”

“I think it’s the rumors.”

She looks sideways at him. “What rumors?”

“That the place is haunted.”

Logan appears next to them, his timing perfect as ever. His brow, furrowed and his manner, mild. Just another curious house hunter listening to a ghost story. 

Veronica feels like she might float away. “Oh.”

“Yeah, there was a murder here, years ago. A girl,” Gabe clarifies.

She blinks, her mouth falling open. It’s not acting. She hadn't expected it to come up, which was stupid of her. To think that it wouldn't come up. Logan cups her elbow, steers her a little closer. It's protective, the gesture. There’s no way to show it but she’s grateful.

Gabe looks around, shaking his head. “Yeah. It was messed up.” 

Veronica watches Logan’s adam’s apple move as he dry-swallows. Her gaze travels up. Their eyes lock.

“Random violence?” She forces her voice to sound curious and not flat. Logan’s focus is intense, like he’s trying to speak to her telepathically. What is he saying? _Breathe, Veronica._ Yeah. Good idea.

Gabe coughs. “No, some famous dude. I don’t know, I don’t really pay attention to that stuff.”

“So is it?” The tone of Logan’s voice surprises her. It’s gentle, close to tender.

“What?” The boy sounds genuinely confused, like he’d forgotten what they were talking about mere seconds ago.

Logan looks away from her finally, over to Gabe. “Haunted?”

Veronica turns as well. Gabe scratches his neck, his hand bear-like.

“Umm… ”

He looks shifty. Literally. He balances his weight on one leg and leisurely shifts to the other. As if he were standing on a ship.

“It’s okay, you can tell us.” Veronica looks up at Logan. “We ain’t afraid of no ghosts.” He nods back.

“Okay. I’ve heard stuff. Not at night. Like in the middle of the day,” Gabe murmurs, his voice cautious as if he's afraid of being overheard.

“Like what?” She licks her lips.

“That’s the weird part. Not like a single person, not a girl. But like a bunch of kids. Laughing and talking and stuff. Having a party. But I come out and there’s nobody.”

Veronica holds her breath and her skin erupts in gooseflesh. Next to her Logan shakes. She turns to him with wide eyes. He’s _laughing_. He laughs for a while.

“Come on. That doesn’t sound so bad.” Logan manages, giving her shoulder a nudge with his. “It's uh, reassuring.”

“Yeah, that’s what I think.” Gabe nods in agreement. “Everybody sounds happy, it’s not, like, a bad thing. I don’t know, I feel good here. I’d definitely add a pool though, if it was my place. It gets hot in the summer. Dry heat. Which is supposed to be the good heat. But you know, hot is hot.”

“Right.”

“Lo---ok, Ted. There’s a fire pit. Somewhere for you to sit and play your Sublime covers.”

Logan gives her a bemused look, then glances over at Gabe. “Do you mind? If I go have a look?”

“Yeah dude, that’s cool.”

Logan pivots back on his heel, looking pointedly at Veronica. “Don’t worry, Betty. I won’t start any fires.”

They smirk at one another. Logan walks over to the fire pit. He looks so formal in his dress shirt and slacks. He could actually be someone’s husband. Gabe’s voice interrupts her thoughts.

“So how long have you been married?”

She does some quick liar's math in her head. “About two years. But we dated for eight.”

“Oh cool, congratulations.”

“For what?” she says.

“For making it to ten years.”

She looks over at Logan, he’s circling the fire pit contemplatively. They hadn't even made it to one year. But Betty and Ted have made it to ten. Good for them.

“Yeah. We have. Just had our wedding anniversary a couple of nights ago. We went to the new Italian place in Old Neptune **—** what’s it called? Shoot. I can’t remember. It was delicious. The scungilli? To die for.”

“How did you meet?” he asks.

“Would you believe, high school?” Veronica wistful smile is only half put-on.

Gabe nods thoughtfully. “I can see that.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re young but you have that old friends thing. Comfortable.”

“Right.” He makes them sound like slippers. She’s offended for their alter-egos. Logan would be too. Maybe they should up the spice quotient for his benefit. Some grab-ass, a little tongue.

“Do you have any 'special friends'?” she asks, trying to keep the mockery out of her voice and succeeding.

“Some but none that I’m seriously dating. Don’t have time for that.”

“Right. Of course.”

“My focus is on finishing my novel.” He wipes his upper lip with the back of his hand and nods.

“Oh. What’s it about?”

“Well. It’s about a modern day archaeological crew. They’re, umm, doing a series of digs at places.” He stops, as if considering the journey. “Places which are commonly considered to be the actual locales mentioned in the Odyssey. Along with flashbacks,” his hand flaps in the air diagonally, “slash re-imaginings of the Odyssey itself. You know by, uh, Homer. It’s a romance. Historical romance.”

She gives him a double take. “That sounds... cool.”

“Thanks.” He winces apologetically. “Sorry. I wish I could describe it better. I’ve been working on the synopsis. I suck at those.”

“I think you did a good job.”

“Thanks. So. You guys are probably ready to have kids and stuff, huh?”

 _Please._ “Oh, yeah. Totally working on it! As much as we can.” She winks at him. _Too much? Fuck it._ “‘Scuse me.”

She struts over to Logan, gradually picking up momentum and hopping lightly onto one of the low stone seats surrounding the fire pit. Her new height puts them at eye level, also closer. He doesn’t back away from her, merely lifts his eyebrows. She wraps her arms around his neck and whispers in his ear.

“Is he still watching?”

He nods.

“We should go.” She positions her face near Logan’s, at a slight angle, so that from Gabe’s perspective it would look like she was kissing him. “I’m telling him all about our anniversary and I’m starting to worry...” She air nuzzles his nose. “I’ll have to create a fake pregnancy to go with our fake marriage.”

Logan, who’d settled his hands at her waist, rubs her lower back with the flat of his palm. He could do this for a living. Not the massage, the faking. Well, both.

“I kinda want to see you pull that off.” He whispers in her ear, his breath hot, his lips barely grazing her earlobe. She refuses to shiver.

“Oh you sweet summer child. You think I couldn't?”

He tilts his head back and looks at her. “I _know_ you could.”

They grin at each other and there’s that pull again. He always found her deviousness a turn-on and is the only man she’s ever been with who felt that way. Is that it, is that why her imagination never really let him go? Because he appreciated some negligible part of her nature? One she knew was undeniable, like hair or eye color but kept hidden from sight because she could?

“Also, he said we looked like a ‘comfortable’ couple. I’m fundamentally opposed to that description.”

Logan throws his head back and belly laughs. He swings her down to the ground gently. “Come on,” he says. “We should get going.”

They walk back towards Gabe, hand in hand. He’s staring up at the sky, mouth slightly agape. Veronica taps him on the shoulder, he jumps a little.

“Thanks so much, Gabe, for letting us see the grounds. We really appreciate it. Especially at this crazy time of night.”

“No problem. This is usually my writing time so you know, _up_. Umm, if you want to come back tomorrow, I can show you inside the house. It’s kinda late otherwise I’d say what the hell.”

He’s awfully trusting. Veronica feels momentarily guilty for duping him. Then again, no harm, no foul.

“Oh, thanks.” She glances up at Logan. He brings her hand up to his mouth, puts his lips against the inside of her wrist and kisses her there. “But we’re good.” She stumbles on that word a little **—** good. He did that on purpose. “I don’t think this house is really for us. Too much _work_.” She emphasizes the last word by digging her nails into his hand. Logan doesn’t even wince. He winks. _Fucker_.

“Yeah, I get it. It’s a strange place. But I dig it. It’s almost home, at this point.” Gabe kneels and plucks a dandelion from the lawn. She almost expects him to give it to her. He puts it in his pocket.

“Right.” Veronica spins around to take in the scenery, commit it one last time to memory, then loops her arm in Logan’s. Gabe walks them back to the car.

Logan shakes Gabe’s hand first, a single downwards pump. “Thanks again, Gabe.”

“Yes, thank you so much.” Veronica goes for a hug. He’s stiff at first, then melts a little, giving her a funny little shoulder pat in response.

“Yeah. No problem. Nice meeting you guys. And congratulations again!”

In the car, Logan and Veronica keep their hands on each other, his on her shoulder, hers on his thigh, down the drive and past the gate. As soon as they’re out of sight, he pulls back, puts his hand on the steering wheel, perfect two to the other hand’s ten.

A new song comes on, another smooch city special. She knows this one, loves it, used to listen to it on her runs back home, the cold filling her lungs with that good sort of hurt. It occurs to her that she’s never really heard it this closely or that, perhaps, this is how it should be listened to. With Logan sitting next to her and the lyrics clear as bells. _We used to get closer than this/is it something you miss?_  Yes. Is he listening?

Veronica wants to kiss Logan so badly that she makes herself turn away from him, so that if he looks over, he won’t be able see her face **—** the confusion there. She needs to get on that plane back to NYC and commit to her choices. But she also wants to stay right next to him. Just like this.

A pickup truck comes out of nowhere and they stop short, hard, heads snapping forward. Logan’s arm shoots out reflexively in front of her. The truck screeches off, Veronica rubs her neck.

Logan touches her shoulder, wide-eyed with concern. “Hey. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Where did they come from?”

“They ran the light. I’m sorry, I didn’t see it coming.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s not your fault.” She laughs nervously from the shock. “I’m fine. Tip top.”

He takes off cautiously when the light turns green again and rubs his finger against his bottom lip, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere.

 _Grow up, Mars._ What does she even think this is? His girlfriend just died. He needs a friend. Besides, she hasn’t even told him about Piz. It seems presumptuous to mention it. How do you even bring it up in casual conversation? Oh by the way, remember that poor sucker whose face you bashed in freshman year of college? We reconnected a year ago and I’m meeting his parents next week. The thought of it makes her nervous and when she gets nervous, she gets angry. Best to avoid it. It’s not really relevant. To anything.

“So who's Betty?”

Veronica sighs, crossing her legs. “Betty is a sweet girl who went to Pan High-”

“Believe me, Pan girls were not swee-” Logan interrupts archly.

“Shhh. My bio. She went on to Hearst. Studied Hospitality and-”

“Public Relations?”

“Fellatio," she counters.

“So… close?”

Veronica laughs, shakes her hair out, letting the wind blowing through it. 

“She’s my cover when I need to be a nice girl. Her and Amber.” She says the latter with an excitable squeak.

“Veronica Mars is not a nice girl?”

“Eh. She's okay. But some situations require a softer touch. Original recipe tends to bring too much fight.”

“Ya think?” He turns to her, single eyebrow raised. It stings a little, that jab. “So what about Ted? Aside from the fact that he's an outdoor guitar enthusiast who don’t practice Santeria. What's his story?”

“Well, he's a nice boy. He… ” She has to course correct here, they can’t be high school sweethearts, not for Logan anyway. “Umm, grew up in Los Angeles, went to Cal State. Majored in Poli-Sci. He fell for Betty one fateful spring break weekend in Cancun.”

“Wet t-shirt contest?”

“Foam party.”

“Mmm, love at first pink eye.”

“Sadly, I think I'm gonna have to jettison ole Ted. He's cramping Betty's style.”

“Oh, but we've only just begun.”

“You've… _he’s_ ,” she corrects herself, “become a liability.”

“Of course.” He stops the car but keeps the engine running. They're in front of her dad's. “We're here.”

“That was fast.” She keeps the disappointment out of her voice. It isn't hard. She is honestly surprised, she expected it to take longer.

“Well, we weren't too far.”

“Right.”

Logan gets out and opens the door for her one last time. He doesn't help her out, she doesn't need the help, not really.

“Do you want to come in?”

He shakes his head no. “I have to go. There’s a lot going on tomorrow and I need to get some shut eye.” He smiles. “Also, I'm not sure your dad would appreciate middle of the night visitors.”

 _Shit._ She forgot how late it was. “Right. Of course.”

They walk up the stairs slowly and stop on the porch. His hands are in his pockets. He’s standing too far away.

“Thanks again, Veronica. For coming out on such short notice. I won’t forget this.”

“Of course. I’m sorry nothing came of the Ruby thing.”

“Oh, I wouldn't say nothing. I’m pretty sure she slipped her bra into my glove compartment.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. I know.” He sighs and smiles, his eyes staying serious, thoughtful. “I feel better about things. It means a lot to me that you flew out here to help me vet the vultures. Somehow I don’t think Dick was up to the task.” Logan smiles and lifts his shoulder in a shrug. He continues, more seriously. “I’m following your suggestion and hiring Jackson Frederick. I’ll put my trust in him, and see what he comes up with.”

“Logan.”

His head snaps up and he squares his shoulders a little, almost imperceptibly, as if he’s awaiting orders. “Yes?”

She remembers her dream. She’s supposed tell him something.

“Circumstances notwithstanding, it was really great to see you again.”

His reply is immediate. “Likewise.”

Tell him that you missed him. That you missed sitting next to him and not speaking. Or joking around. Him, her most consistent sparring partner, chipping away at her defenses. Her friend. Her love. She can’t say any of that though, her mouth is dry. He’s watching her carefully like he hears it all. He nods, she nods back. They've become a couple of bobbleheads.

“Let’s not wait nine years until next time,” he murmurs in the direction of her feet. She looks down too.

“Hey. How are you with email in non-urgent situations?”

“You mean, not-being-accused-of-murder type situations? Responsive.” He looks up and waggles his eyebrows at her.

She folds her arms and tries to look stern but her smile is giving up the ghost. It’s okay though. He can know. She trusts him. 

“Oh. Can I get your picture? For my contacts? I have an embarrassingly old photo...” She trails off, what on earth is she doing?

“Sure.”

She grabs her phone from her back pocket and points the camera at him. He leans into the frame, giving her a winsome, closed-mouth grin, his eyes honey-sweet, kind.

“Perfect.”

They look at one another, not saying anything. She chuckles nervously. “I feel like I’m at an awkward high school dance. Minus the dancing.”

“So let’s dance.”

Before she can reply, he pulls her in by the waist, not too close, but close enough and whirls them around once, then twice. A feat made all the more impressive for taking place in such a small space. He lets her go with a small bow. Logan leans in and kisses her softly to the left of her mouth, quickly so that it doesn’t quite register as anything other than a wisp of a feeling, then hops down the stairs to his car. He swivels around, Astaire-light, sly as ever.

“So, hey. When does your flight land in New York?”

“Sunday afternoon, my time. I start work on Monday. I’ll, uh, be a wreck.”

“You’ll be great. Text me when you land. If you want.”

“I do. And I will.”

She means it. He gives her one last grin, jumps into the car flashily, for her benefit she’s sure, and drives away in a burst of quiet speed.

Veronica’s smiling so hard, she can see her cheeks in her eyesight, pulling up, round and red. She opens the door softly, her father isn’t there but the light is on, waiting for her. She can’t remember the last time she felt like this. Like every single one of nerve endings was ready to fire, like light. She stops and looks at herself in the mirror. She can see it, she _glows_.

Her phone pings. It’s Piz. Why is he even awake? Oh. He must’ve sent it hours ago and it got delayed. It happens. She’ll call him tomorrow.

The guest room is cool, chilly even. Her dad probably left the air conditioning on a timer. She kicks off her boots, lays down on the sofa bed and looks at Logan’s picture like it’s him smiling at her now. Directly in front of her. He’s got fine lines around his eyes, his nose seems more prominent now that his face is leaner and there, despite his meticulous grooming, above his lip, five o’clock shadow coming in. Then there are things that are unchanged. The mole on his forehead, the small chin scar, the distinct points of his ears. His eyes, looking at the camera like it’s her.

Maybe there’s a way she can continue to check in on Logan’s case once she gets home. There’s got to be _something_ she can do remotely. She can’t just leave it. She can’t. She just can’t. She owes him that. Maybe her dad can help. She can convince him of Logan’s innocence, she knows she can. She just has to stay close somehow. This repeats in her head, persistently, as she brushes her teeth and washes her face. As she pulls her sleep shirt over her head. While she lays there in the dark, her phone lit up in her hand. Stay close.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr: @ghostcat3000


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